


A Suitable Tool

by Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blasphemy, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Victim Blaming, M/M, Non-Consensual Knifeplay, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Suicidal Thoughts, Unwilling Arousal, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, non-consensual anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 23:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10292213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum/pseuds/Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum
Summary: What would have happened had Tethimar and Ubezhar gone after the emperor's private witness for the dead in Amalo, and gotten to him before he had a chance to finish his investigation?Trouble Thara Celehar knew he would find in Amalo, but he did not forsee it findinghim...





	1. The Rape of Thara Celehar

Trouble Thara knew he would find in Amalo, but he did not forsee it finding _him_. And yet, that is exactly what occurred very late one chilly night as he made his way back to his cheap room in the Airmen's Quarter. 

After his shift hand ended in the hangars for the day, he had been invited to the Stone Tree to talk (or listen, rather) over tea with Bralchenar, Shulivar, and Narchenazhen. The evening's conversation had been very fruitful, and Thara was now certain enough of their involvement in the assassination of the emperor and his sons and all those who died horrifically aboard the Wisdom of Choharo and their entanglement with the Tethimada and Ubezhada that he felt he should begin making plans to wrap his investigation up. And so, as he walked through the empty streets toward his lodgings, his mind was occupied with mentally composing a letter to His Serenity about everything he had learned.

So lost in his thoughts was Thara that he did not notice the footfalls of the men following him, nor realize the danger he was in until it was too late.

As he drew out his key at the door of the boarding house, a strong hand clamped over his mouth and painfully twisted his free arm behind his back. Thara's eyes flew wide. As his hand still holding the key was yet free, he jabbed backward with it in an attempt to catch his assailant in the gut.

His assailant gasped in surprise, but not in pain—Thara's key had met a leather jerkin that it could not pierce. The next moment, he had shoved Thara forward into the door, knocking the breath out of him and pinning him in place.

“Evening, Mer Celehar,” a low voice slurred into his ear. The reek of metheglin on his assailant's breath was enough to make Thara's eyes water. “How lucky we are to have followed our rat right to its filthy nest.”

A snickering laugh from the left told Thara there were at least two of them.

“We have a very private matter to discuss with thee,” the man holding Thara captive said, “and would suggest thou composest thyself enough to invite us in. Or we may choose simply to dispose of thee here.”

Outrage, disgust, and fear filled Thara. He knew this voice, affected as it was by drink—the Archprelate's cousin, Eshevis Tethimar. The man behind the assassination machinations. Apparently Tethimar possessed not only a treasonous streak, but a vicious one as well.

Thara's already speeding heart pounded faster still. Tethimar had to know of his investigations, then, if he was here in Amalo, now, confronting Thara. And if he were capable of murdering the emperor himself, how far would he go to silence Thara?

Seeing no other option, Thara chose to comply. For now. 

Fumblingly, he reached out to find the door latch.

As soon as he made to comply, Tethimar eased back from Thara to give him room to get the key into place and the door open. “A wise choice, Mer Celehar.”

Thara's mind raced as he tried to think of a way out of this unsavory situation. One thought sprung up and he held to it—all he had to do was lead them up the stairs to zhornu Rozhevar's room. It was next door to his own, and an easy enough mistake to make in the dark. With any luck, Rozhevar would sense something amiss upon seeing Thara with these unfamiliar men, or he would invite himself to join them in friendly misunderstanding of the circumstances, or cause enough of a commotion that it would send Tethimar and his companion away without causing further harm.

“Now, shalt make not a sound as we enter.” With that command, Tethimar took his hand off of Thara's face and then rested it firmly on Thara's shoulder. Only then did he release Thara's aching arm with the other. “That's it. Keep quiet and show us in. One single misstep and you will be witnessing for your own death.”

Thara's ears flared in indignant anger, but then dipped again and flattened to his skull as the point of a knife dug into the small of his back. Those were not empty words.

Tethimar's companion snickered again, clearly drunk as well. “We doubt much that Csoru Zhasanai will miss thee. You know, she has said--”

“Hush, half-wit!” Tethimar hissed. “Speak nothing that may connect us with the court. We are yet in public.”

Thara was not sure whether to be grudgingly grateful to Tethimar for cutting his friend off before what vile things Csoru had shared could come forth, or if he wished to know the extent of her gossip. One thing was certain—friends of Csoru's were no friends to him, if present circumstances had not already made it clear that these men meant nothing but harm.

In tense silence, the three of them entered the boarding house, Thara by force in front, with Tethimar directly behind him, and his companion bringing up the rear. All was quiet at this hour, a guttering oil lamp left lit down the lower floor's hallway the only illumination.

The voice of Tethimar's companion came again. “...It seems a whole warren of rat's nests,” he said, hesitantly. “Are you sure we should be allowing him to take the lead--”

“The cellar, then,” Tethimar cut him off. He gave Thara a push, then pressed the knife harder against his back. “We would not wish to disturb the whole house, now, would we?”

Thara felt his stomach drop into his shoes as his hope of alerting his neighbors evaporated. With heavy chagrined steps, he obeyed, leading them toward the kitchen, and then further, back to the sunken staircase leading down into the root cellar. He knew he should make noise now before the deep dark of the cellar and its thick walls closed him off from the rest of the boarding house, but no sound would come beyond the sharp rasp of his breath. And if he did cry out, would it be the last noise he made? That knife would sink into his back and silence him for good before he could speak of all he'd learned to Edrehasivar. If only he'd penned his letter sooner, or been quicker to figure things out, or had at least seen Tethimar coming...

All hope was swallowed up as the heavy cellar door thunked with finality into place behind them.

“Strip off thy breeches,” Tethimar commanded, kicking Thara down the cellar stairs.

“What?” Thara managed to gasp indignantly from where he lay crumpled against the bags of potatoes stacked near the cabinets at the foot of the stairs. He was lucky they had somewhat cushioned his fall at the end, though his body still ached from his tumble. But, his breeches? Surely he had hit his head and misheard...

Tethimar laughed. “Didst think we had come simply to have a friendly chat? Thy breeches. Strip them. Should we have to do it ourselves, we will not be gentle... Or perhaps wouldst rather we have Odris do it for thee?”

Odris. Ubezhar? Thara blinked in the musty darkness, until said man struck a match and lit the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling beam just inside the door, illuminating his leering features and the half-stocked shelves of the small, cramped cellar. Yes, Odris Ubezhar, Eshevis Tethimar's partner in treason; Thara should have known from the first. Though the plainness of his clothing belied and concealed his status—Tethimar was dressed similarly, in plain brown hunting leathers—his bearing and the fineness of his tashin sticks made his nobility obvious.

“You need not use such unsavory tactics with us. Tell us what your business is and we shall be happy to assist you and have done, Dach'osmer Tethimar,” Thara said, with perhaps more acid in his voice than was strictly wise. Even under the circumstances, he would not be cowed so easily. If they meant to harm or humiliate him, they would have to do the work of it themselves.

“Ah, but Mer Celehar, hast stuck thy nose far too deeply into our business as it is,” Tethimar said, his hunting boots clacking loudly on the cellar steps as he descended. His sharp gaze pierced Thara and pinned him in place.

Thara swallowed, but he fought to keep his ears as high as he possibly could to hide his anxiety. He would hear what Tethimar knew before inadvertently giving away more than he ought. “And what business would that be?”

“We know hast been snooping around the Amal-Athamareise Airship Company, and it has left our new cousin, the Prince of Thu-Athamar, most discomfited.” Tethimar finished making his way down into the cellar proper and loomed over Thara's slight form, still huddled amidst the potato sacks. “As we see it, hast no business in Amalo. Not many dead to speak of, or _to_ , running about the airship company, are there, Mer Celehar?”

His _cousin_ , indeed, Thara thought. As though Tethimar cared one whit for anyone but himself and his own interests. All Tethimar was concerned about was that Thara might uncover his treasonous plot to blow up the emperor's airship. That he was trying to obfuscate his true motivations spoke volumes. Perhaps he did not already know the extent of Thara's knowledge, then. A wild hope kindled in Thara's chest— if Tethimar thought he was merely preventing him from learning anything, it might be enough to accede to his wishes and leave Amalo. His investigation was already complete... Thara could send a letter and alert the Vigilant Brotherhood first thing in the morning, before leaving.

“Your message has been received. An it please you, we shall return to Cetho on the morrow,” Thara said as evenly as he could, while standing and dusting himself off. “Are you satisfied, Dach'osmer Tethimar? Dach'osmer Ubezhar?”

His hope was short-lived.

“Oh, no, we don't think it _has_ been received. A more direct and lasting lesson about what it means to cross us is in order for thee,” Tethimar said, his voice nearly a purr as he leaned in toward Thara's face. “Shalt not be returning to Cetho, now or ever. And we are nowhere near satisfied.”

It was all Thara could do not to show his fear. Despite his efforts, his ears twitched, though his gaze remained cold and hard. Tethimar exuded predacious intent.

Then the tension between them snapped and Tethimar moved too quickly for Thara to avoid him. Before he could process what was happening, Tethimar had spun him around, then taken hold of both his wrists and wrenched them behind his back. He was shoved bodily into a bare stretch of the unfinished hard-packed earthen wall of the cellar, just adjacent to shelves lined with turnips, carrots, parnsips, and other root vegetables.

“Odris. Guard the door,” Tethimar called. Thara watched out of the corner of his eye as Ubezhar immediately complied. Ubezhar sat on the stairs between the door and the cellar proper and watched hungrily, a hound waiting to be given the signal to feed.

Then Tethimar's attention turned fully back to Thara. He rubbed his body against Thara's, and Thara shuddered. He could feel Tethimar's hardening organ pressing into his thigh and rear through the cloth of both their breeches. Horror filled Thara like hot lead. Violence he expected, but not this...

The stench of metheglin vapors washed over Thara's face as Tethimar leaned in to breathe into his ear, “Shouldst even enjoy this lesson, _marnis_. Though it is our intention to leave thee broken, make no mistake.”

Humiliation joined the dawning horror burning in Thara. So they knew that much about him, Tethimar and Ubezhar. Of course Csoru had turned to gossip and let slip the reason for his disgrace, and now, as he had feared it might, the knowledge of his inclinations was being used as a barb against him.

Futile though it was, Thara tried to struggle out of the vice-grip his wrists were still in as Tethimar used his free hand to dig his fingers beneath the waistband of Thara's breeches and began to yank at them. He succeeded in getting Tethimar to let go of his breeches, but it was unfortunately so that he could cuff Thara hard on the side of the head for his efforts. There was a ringing and throbbing in Thara's right ear. One of Tethimar's rings had caught in his hair and tore a small patch of it out as he brought his fist back... he could feel warm wetness where his scalp must have started to bleed.

“Thy squirming is quite arousing,” Tethimar said. He pressed his still-clothed cockstand into the cleft of Thara's rear and proceeded to grind obscenely, then reached around to roughly palm the front of Thara's breeches.

Against his better judgment, Thara fought to free himself again, twisting in Tethimar's tight grasp. The fine bones of his wrists ground together excruciatingly sharply, and his arms and shoulders strained as he tried to pull away. For his trouble, his face was mashed into the wall as Tethimar's hips snapped forward to pound himself against Thara with force. He tasted dirt and blood. 

When the hand palming him through his breeches disappeared, Thara was momentarily relieved. But then a ripping sound met his ears. Tethimar's free hand was now wielding the knife again and sliding it up his work tunic, tearing the cloth from his body. 

“No...” Thara murmured.

“Oh, _yes_. We did very magnanimously give thee the option to strip thyself, but didst not take it. Now we shall rend thy garments and thy pride from thee.” Once the tunic was loosed enough to fall off and expose Thara's upper body, Tethimar traced the very edge of his knife over the delicate knobs of Thara's spine, over the obstacle of his still-caught wrists, then proceeded all the way down to his breeches.

The knife's point felt as though it left a trail of sharp fire, hot and stinging. Thara could do no more than stay frozen there, barely breathing for fear of forcing the knife in deeper or of making Tethimar slip and pierce him somewhere he would not recover from. He squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth when he felt the fabric of his breeches lift and begin to tear, straight down the back middle seam. His breath hitched when the knife tip brushed his balls. It stopped there.

“Art afraid?” Tethimar asked, knife still perilously close to a most delicate part of Thara.

Thara could not stop the fine tremor running through his body. “Yes,” he confessed.

“Good. Art learning, then.” With that, Tethimar withdrew the blade and used his hand to rip the fabric further. He kicked at Thara's legs to make him spread them, and made quick work of shearing off what remained of his breeches. Then the knife was gone.

Now Thara stood there shivering and humiliated beneath Tethimar in nothing but a pair of old work boots. He was utterly exposed, and incapable of doing anything about it. He hated it, with every fiber of his being.

“Shouldst like it if we used oil to slick thee first?” Tethimar said. He was undoing his belt buckle now, from the jangling sound of it.

The question came as a bitter surprise. What, kindness now? Thara little thought Tethimar wanted to spare him any pain, and he trusted him not. Would he offer oil only to deny the request of it once made? Or did he want to see Thara enjoy this, for his body might betray him if stimulated more pleasurably? Thara closed his eyes and let out a sigh. This was no choice.

His voice shook, the word falling like a stone from his mouth. “Please.”

“Begg'st so prettily,” Tethimar murmured, leaning forward to catch the point of one of Thara's ears in his teeth. He sucked on it a moment, causing a mortifying jolt of arousal to spark between Thara's legs, then bit down hard. Pain exploded like a firecracker in his ear, wrenching a hoarse scream out of Thara.

Beyond the roar of blood in his head, Thara heard the shift of cloth as Tethimar reached into one of his own pockets, the pop of a cork as presumably a vial was opened... and then the scent of the oil hit him, warm and heady and slightly sweet. The unmistakable scent of yuvria, the deep red blooms of the bonewood trees sacred to Ulis for their tendency to flourish in loamy gravesoil.

That scent called up memories of peaceful days spent praying and offering of himself to Ulis in many an Ulimeire, of redolent yuvria oil anointing his forehead on the day he was sanctified to Ulis... 

“Oh, no. No, no, please, Tethimar, not—not _consecrated_ oil.” Thara's throat was tight with dismay and dread. They would throw this, too, in his face. They would despoil him body and soul. “ _Please_.”

Tethimar's laughter echoed clangorously in his ears. “See'st thou, Odris? I need not have spoken its provenance and yet he knew.” 

From his seat on the stairs, Ubezhar chuckled darkly. “Wert right; he still thinks he holds some vestige of purity yet. He won't ere long, though!”

Tethimar slicked himself with the oil, then unceremoniously shoved two fingers drenched with it into Thara's body. Over Thara's pained and horrified cries, Tethimar spoke. “Here, we shall consecrate thee anew and send thee to thy god a holy whore.”

“Thou blasphemer,” Thara spat, choking on the scent and the soul-deep hurt of the foul act Tethimar committed against Ulis. 

“That is rich,” Tethimar hissed, brutally twisting his fingers within Thara, “coming from a marnis degenerate disgraced _former_ prelate such as thyself. Cry to thy god! Go on, cry to him or to thy beloved _Edrehasivar_ , see if either believe that thou dost not _want_ this.”

A dry sob tore out of Thara's throat, his whole body convulsing with it. He _did not want this_. Dimly, he was aware of the word 'no' tumbling from his lips over and over. But, in sooth, would any believe him? Csoru certainly would not. Anyone at court would believe Tethimar's word over his own, disgraced as he was. And Edrehasivar? Thara knew not what His Serenity thought of his... proclivities. But it did not matter. After this, there was no way Thara could consider himself witness for the dead. He was unfit for that or any other holy role.

Sullied. Unsanctified. _Defiled_. He had no place in Ulis' grace, or in Edrehasivar's court.

He had nothing, no where left to turn.

As the tears finally began to flow, Tethimar withdrew his fingers and rammed his cock into Thara's abused opening. It hurt. Pain radiated in sharp, burning bursts from deep within him with every thrust of Tethimar's hips. Thara slumped in Tethimar's grip, his legs giving out beneath him in his despair. It mattered not to Tethimar—he let go of Thara's wrists to put his arm about his waist, holding his lower half up while the wall did the rest of the work.

“Art hard yet?” Tethimar grunted, still pounding into Thara even as he reached around to take hold of Thara's traitorous cock. So he was. “Dost enjoy our attentions after all. Worry not, Odris shall have a turn to pleasure thee more after we are done with thee. Or should we take thee to Eshoravee? Let yet more of our friends play with thee?”

Even the litany of broken 'no's' had ceased flowing from Thara's lips. He shook all over, overcome with pain and shame. A gravel-ground moan, more despair than lust, tore from him as Tethimar began pumping Thara's cock in time with his rough thrusts, but the sound spurred Tethimar on nonetheless. Thara found himself wishing Tethimar would spend, though the thought of having to endure Ubezhar next almost made him wish for oblivion instead. The idea of being used like this, over and over, by as many men as Eshevis Tethimar offered him to made Thara sick to his stomach. How could anyone endure such treatment?

He could not endure. 

Oh, how Thara wanted to pray for death. But he could not. Even an Ulis heard, Thara did not deserve what cold mercy might be offered.

Thara closed his eyes and tried to shut out the taste of dirt and blood and salt, the sound of Tethimar's ugly grunts and the wet slap of skin meeting skin _pounding_ into skin until it broke and bled, the smell of damp earth and yuvria so heady it made his head swim... he tried to shut it all out and imagine that it was Evru covering him. But Evru was never this harsh with him, never caused pain this molten and scouring to pulse through him. And to imagine a murderer's touch, no matter that he had loved him once, was blasphemy upon blasphemy.

And it wasn't working, anyway. The illusion only hurt him more.

Tethimar's tongue traced where the knife had cut over his spine, licking upwards until he was sucking wetly at Thara's shoulders and neck. Thara shuddered, nearly heaving when his body responded. His neck had always been a sensitive area. His thoughts turned to the only source of comfort he had known since renouncing his prelacy, and the reason he had to make it out of this alive... His Serenity. His Serenity believed in his skills and abilities, and Thara would do his best to prove himself worthy of at least _that_. Thara found himself whimpering and could no more stop it than he could stop the tears or the pain consuming him... he could not fail His Serenity so completely. Something in the back of his mind told him he already had.

“Hear him yowl like a cat in heat,” Tethimar panted, his thrusts becoming erratic. He smacked Thara's rear hard enough to raise angry red welts, and Thara could not help but cry out, his muscles clenching hard around the intrusion within. “Odris, wouldst have some of this? I am nearly finished.”

Thara watched through a blur of tears as Odris approached, already stroking his own swollen erection. He shut his eyes to remove the vision, but still it burned there.

“First, wilt spend for us, Celehar,” Tethimar demanded. His hand moved roughly over Thara's cock, squeezing too tightly, rubbing such that it hurt. “Come on, we will see thee despoil thyself before we finish.”

Though he shuddered with revulsion, still Thara felt his body reacting despite himself. Heat began pooling low in his belly and his balls began to draw as Tethimar ripped a painful orgasm from Thara. In that moment, he felt himself break. _Serenity please forgive me, Serenity, I am weak, I am sorry,_ \--“Ah! Serenity!” 

He shot thickly into Tethimar's hand and over the bare dirt floor of the cellar below them, his lord's name on his lips like a blasphemous prayer.

“Serenity? So think'st thou of thy hobgoblin emperor when thou plough'st thy hand at night? Disgusting,” spat Tethimar, with relish. He thrust a handful of times more and then spent hard into Thara, his cock pulsing hotly within him.

With that, he let Thara's body fall to the ground in a shaking heap, his seed mingled with Thara's own blood leaking slowly out between Thara's trembling thighs.

Oh, what had Thara done? To pollute His Serenity's title by uttering it at a time like that? Sick waves of self-hatred washed over him as he lie on the cold, hard ground, sweat-slicked and shaking. Truly, he was the vilest creature that ever walked the earth.

“Get up. Give us room to use thy mouth, filthy marnis rat,” Ubezhar said. He took a fistful of Thara's hair and yanked him upright onto his knees. 

Pain exploded in Thara's scalp and shot down his spine. Thara swayed and reached out to steady himself by taking hold of Ubezhar's hips with numb fingers.

He would take it. Punishment such as this was all he deserved, after what he'd done and failed to do.

“Hast made him marvelously pliant, Eshevis,” Ubezhar said. Tethimar chuckled in response as he did his breeches back up.

Ubezhar hummed in pleasure as Thara opened his mouth to take his length and let him fuck his way into his throat without so much as gagging.

Ubezhar's cock tasted of sour sweat and thick musk, salt and—distressingly—yuvria oil. As Ubezhar's fingers tangled in his hair held him in place, Thara realized he could just close his eyes and let Ubezhar move, careful to keep his teeth covered with his split and aching lips, and let it happen.

“Art a terrible cocksucker,” Ubezhar muttered, “but so pretty a wreck.”

He pushed further into Thara's throat until he hit the back of it with each thrust, making Thara choke. The spasms that caused seemed to give Ubezhar pleasure, and he kept doing it until Thara was gasping for breath and tears were flowing unbidden once more down his dirt-streaked cheeks. Thara did not struggle. He was beyond struggling. Each moment was just a blur of pain and shame and filth and sacrilege.

So dazed was he that it came as a surprise when Ubezhar finally found completion. He spurted first into Thara's mouth, and then pulled his cock out to shoot thick ropes of seed over his face and into his hair.

When he was done, Ubezhar kept Thara's head held up and stepped aside, showing his handiwork off for Tethimar's approval. “Completely befouled. Does he not look lovely?”

“Indeed, Odris,” Tethimar agreed. He was sitting at the base of the cellar steps, legs spread imposingly, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Well, Celehar, wilt cross us again, now hast experienced what we do to rats who go digging where they are not wanted?” Tethimar said, his voice too loud in this close space for Thara to bear.

Thara tried to shake his head and only succeeded in pulling his own hair, gripped as it still was in Ubezhar's unkind hand. He licked his lips, and instantly regretted it. They tasted of blood and salty seed. “No,” he croaked.

“And wilt bear tales of this?” Ubezhar asked, giving his head a rough shake. “As though anyone would believe thee over us in any case, may we remind thee.”

Thara swallowed thickly. His mouth was dry and his throat ached. “...No,” he whispered. It was a broken sound, like rock scree falling off a cliff's edge.

“Good. Should we see thee in Cetho again, shalt be a dead man. Leave him, Odris,” Tethimar said. He stood and dusted off his breeches. “If he dies here, more's the better.”

Ubezhar let go of Thara's hair and let him fall. For a moment, Thara thought it was over. He breathed out and let his eyes close, concentrating on simply breathing. He had failed everyone... Edrehasivar, Ulis... what use was a broken tool, after all? Thara would pray not for death, but neither would he fight it.

He was not expecting Tethimar's boot to connect with his face, one last blow to knock him out entirely. The pain was sharp and throbbing, and dimly he was aware of warm wetness flowing over his mouth and chin, and then blackness swallowed him.


	2. Edrehasivar's Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I couldn't leave poor Thara to his misery forever, here is his rescue and the beginnings of his recovery.

The next thing he knew, blinding light was flooding down into Thara's glazed eyes. Instinctively, he curled inward, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

The cellar door was open.

“Yes, carrots and potatoes, I heardst thee the first time didst ask! Worry not Valeio,” came Rozhevar's boistrously loud voice. He whistled as he bounded down the stairs.

All Thara could do was shiver in the chill of the cellar and make a very feeble moan. That was enough to catch Rozhevar's attention.

“Anmura's balls—is that a body?” Rozhevar paused before him, holding his oil lantern out to shine light on Thara's naked, bruised, and bloodied form.

Thara wished not to be seen at all, but could do little to cover himself except to draw his legs up hitchingly toward his aching chest.

Rozhevar gasped. “Zhornu Celehar? _Heavens have mercy._ ” Gently, he gathered Thara's broken body into his arms. Then he yelled to the boardinghouse keeper, his voice booming loudly, “Valeio! Send for the Vigilant Brotherhood!”

Warm and safe in Rozhevar's strong arms, Thara let himself relax against his barrel chest. His head spun as he was carried up the stairs and out of the darkness, thoughts swirling thick and syrupy. The one thought that battered at him was that Ulis had not yet claimed him.

He was yet alive. His suffering was not yet ended.

* * *

When next he opened his eyes, his mind still swam in a strange dreamscape. It seemed he was on an airship, the hum of the engines all he could hear, but that could not be. He was tucked securely onto a gurney, guarded by two tall members of the Vigilant Brotherhood. Rozhevar must have given him a drug for the pain that had him hallucinating. 

One of the guardsmen noticed him staring and spoke softly to him in a deep, resonant voice. “You should sleep, Mer Celehar. It is hours yet before we reach Cetho.”

Cetho? Perhaps he was dreaming that he was on the Wisdom of Choharo. He knew how this ended, and was strangely relieved. Perhaps he could join them in their fate. 

Thara closed his eyes again and slipped back into dreamless sleep.

* * *

“What should we do with him, then, if his relations will not accept him? We cannot be expected to take him back to Amalo; he has no one to tend to him there, either, and no way to pay the fare in any case.” A voice Thara did not recognize, loud and gruff.

“Courier! Is there a charity hospice nearby? We have a patient that needs a bed.” That voice sounded like the guardsman from the airship in his dreams... the Vigilant Brothers... he had a message for them. What was it?

* * *

Minutes or hours may have passed, and Thara's mind dipped in and out of consciousness. Angry voices woke him once. Someone said _leave him_. Thara shuddered uncontrollably, thinking himself back in the cellar.

Finally, a firm, cool hand was stroking the lank hair back from his face. Thara relaxed and opened his eyes.

“You're safe now, Mer Celehar,” said the woman tending him, looking at him not with pity but with compassion. She was wearing a maza's robes, and bore the Drazhadeise crest... 

“Where—who--?” His voice sounded strange to his ears, still graveled and rough, but oddly nasal. That final blow from Tethimar must have broken his nose. Thinking on it made it throb.

“We are Kiru Athmaza, second nohecharo to Edrehasivar the Seventh, and formerly a cleric of Csaivo. His Serenity has provided a room for you in the Alcethmeret, and we shall tend thy wounds when it is not our turn to be by his side.” She spoke clearly and quietly, the expression on her face at once patient and steadfast.

With trembling fingers, Thara reached up to brush her hand away. He meant her no ill will, but could not accept her kindness. Especially knowing it was, in extension, His Serenity's kindness.

“I deserve it not,” he said, his voice raw.

Kiru raised her eyebrows. “Mer Celehar, it is our duty to heal those in need. We do not judge.” Her words brooked no argument. Deserving or not, she would help him.

Thara sighed.

Without another word of protest, he allowed her to assist him into a stiff and aching sitting position in the bed, so that he might drink down a draught of medicine that would aid in sleep and recovery.

“Wait,” Thara said, the draught half-finished in his hand. Now that his head was clearing somewhat, it was sinking in that he was in Cetho, in the Emperor's very palace, and he bore an urgent message. Whatever agreements Tethimar and Ubezhar may have wrung from him in that dank cellar in Amalo, they meant nothing. He was and always would be loyal to Edrehasivar, whether or not it cost him his life. Perhaps, broken as he was, he was yet capable of serving Ulis this one last time.

“We must speak to His Serenity at once. We have urgent news--”

Kiru was shaking her head. “It will have to wait until tomorrow, Mer Celehar. Tonight is Winternight, and His Serenity is engaged in all the festivities it brings. Please, rest. There will be time enough to give your report later.”

Thara subsided. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his throbbing temples with his free hand. “We understand. We are sorry for presuming...”

“You need not apologize. You have been through a great ordeal, and did not know.” Kiru smiled softly, then nodded toward his cup. “Drink.”

He licked his lips. The draught was bitter, and was already beginning to ease his pain and make his head feel light. Yet now that he had recalled his purpose, he could not let it go. “If... if it would not be too much to ask, we would like to share what we know with you before we sleep again. In case we do not wake.”

“If you wish,” Kiru said, settling herself into a chair beside the bed. She did not chastise him for his anxiety, only turned to him attentively after casting a maz around them that seemed to shut out all other sound. “We shall listen.”

Thara settled back into the pillows and let the words flow out of him, and told Kiru Athmaza all he knew. Painful as it was to recount, he left out no pertinent detail, up to and including his assault by Tethimar and Ubezhar as well as the nature thereof. By the end, he felt wrung out and exhausted, and Kiru was grim and quiet. She bade him finish the draught, assuring him she would pass on all she knew to Edrehasivar forthwith.

As he sank once more into a softer oblivion, Thara felt as though a weight had been lifted off of him. He had done his duty. Let Tethimar discover him here in Cetho, let him come in the night and murder him in his sleep.

It mattered not anymore.

* * *

Upon waking again, Thara could not stifle a sleep-sodden groan. He had fallen asleep half sitting up, and the pressure of the position on tender, injured places had set him throbbing with the ache of it. Gingerly, he rolled himself onto his side.

“He sounds pained. Is there nothing more we can do for him? Another draught, perhaps, or a maz to ease his sleep? Aromatic herbs to soothe him? Tea? Something?” His Serenity's gentle voice was so soft as to nearly be a whisper, but Thara heard it nonetheless.

“Serenity, we can send for whatever you wish,” came the voice of his secretary, Mer Csevet Aisava, “however, Mer Celehar seems to be resting as peacefully as possible, given the circumstances.”

From the other side of the room, Kiru's quiet voice sounded, “When he wakes, we will give him another draught if he will take it. But, Serenity, you need not stay that long.”

Thara opened his eyes to see for himself that Edrehasivar had indeed come to his room, and moreover was sitting at his bedside, fussing over his well-being. Csevet stood beside him, and his second nohecharis Lieutenant Telimezh was standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. Kiru, he could hear, was somewhere behind him, doing something with the supplies she used to treat him, which she kept in the cabinetry on the other side of the room. Thara blinked and swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very tight.

“Oh! Mer Celehar,” Edrehasivar said in surprise. “Forgive us for disturbing your rest. How do you feel?”

Thara drew in a breath. The kindness his emperor showed twisted Thara's heart and set it to aching. Without a word, he tried to rouse himself, lifting himself on wobbly arms and slinging his legs over the side of the bed. His legs were stiff from disuse and folded beneath him when he went to stand, but that was all right. What Thara most wanted to do was prostrate himself before His Serenity anyway.

“M-Mer Celehar, what--?” came Edrehasivar's shocked voice. “Oh, heavens, please, don't! Someone help him up!”

Before he could press his face to the floor in front of the chair in which the emperor sat, strong arms lifted him from behind. He found himself, dizzily, back in the bed again. Telimezh stood over him, his hand on Thara's shoulder to keep him from getting up.

Breathing hard, Thara subsided into the pillows once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, defeated. “Serenity,” he rasped. “We... we are sorry. We—I—am unfit to be in your presence and do not deserve the kindnesses you have given me.”

“ _What_.” Edrehasivar seemed exasperated in the extreme.

Thara opened his eyes again, only to find that the emperor had risen and was standing over him now, and was reaching out to take his hand. It was all Thara could do not to pull away. He wished not to get his filth on the Emperor's unsullied hand.

“We came here of our own accord, for we—I am worried about thee, Mer Celehar. Didst have terrible violence done thee on an errand _I_ had set thee. I feel responsible that hast ended up in this condition,” His Serenity confessed. “So if thy condition is why feel'st that art unfit to see me, should'st not, for it is no fault of thine. And for the service thou hast wrought me, deservest much more than I have yet given.”

The intimate way in which the Emperor addressed him shocked Thara and made him feel yet more unworthy of Edrehasivar's regard. His ears dipped and quivered, and though he tried, he was unable to lift them and disguise how shaken he felt.

“Serenity, you are too kind. My failures and faults outweigh any benefit to you I may have provided,” Thara said with difficulty. His hand trembled in Edrehasivar's. “I failed to act quickly enough; it is because of my tardiness that the treasonous perpetrators are still at large--”

Telimezh cleared his throat from the doorway. “Excuse us for the interruption, but that is already being dealt with. Kiru Athmaza did pass on your testimony, Mer Celehar, and Captain Orthema has already taken steps to secure the conspirators in Amalo. Eshevis Tethimar and Odris Ubezhar are in custody pending trial.”

“Naturally, the trial will be postponed until you are well enough to witness, if you would speak for the dead against them,” Csevet added with a sympathetic nod in Thara's direction.

Edrehasivar's hand tightened around Thara's. He looked imploringly into Thara's eyes, and when he spoke his voice was earnest. “Hast done _well_ , Mer Celehar. Speak not of failure when hast not failed at all.”

Thara closed his eyes against a prickling of tears as a rush of gratitude and shame in equal measure coursed through him. He cleared his throat so that words might pass through its constriction. “I am relieved to have been a useful tool in at least that regard. However... do not blame yourself for the state I have found myself in, Serenity. The responsibility for the assault lies solely with me. I did not anticipate it, even after discovering the involvement of the Tethimada, though I knew Csoru Zhasanai's gossip of my various disgraces may have reached Tethimar. And while it may be fruitless to insist such when you know I am marnis, I.. Serenity, I did not want it. But I did likely bring it upon myself.”

He heard Mer Aisava suck in a breath and release it in a soft exhalation, ' _no_ '. At nearly the same moment, Kiru set what sounded like a glass down with an angry thunk; the most vehement action he had yet to hear her make in the days and nights he had been in her care.

Now the emperor was squeezing Thara's hand almost hard enough to hurt, both his hands having come up to clasp it. “I will hear no more of that. Tethimar and Ubezhar's actions were their own; didst _nothing_ to warrant an attack on thy person. I have no idea what being marnis has anything to do with it, as it is also no excuse to beat thee. Do not blame thyself for the vile actions of others upon thee, Mer Celehar.”

Thara swallowed hard, trying to choke down the lump growing in his throat. How could he explain to Edrehasivar that few others held the same conviction that marnei did not bring violence upon themselves for the very fact of their unnatural existence? Did he even understand the nature of the assault?

He opened his eyes and let the tears spill, then shifted his gaze just enough to take in the confused and altogether too sincere look on the young emperor's face. Perhaps if he were to confess the gravest and most intimate transgression he did commit against him, Edrehasivar would come to understand. 

And turn from him as Thara deserved.

“Serenity, I thank you. Still I must insist I do not deserve such compassion.” Thara looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet Edrehasivar's eyes any longer. “In the depths of my despair, while... while Tethimar was taking his pleasure, I did call out to you and so did besmirch your name.”

Thara's face burned with mortification, and his ears were flat to his head as far as the bandaging over his wounds would allow. He dared not look into his emperor's face, but noticed the grip on his hand loosen considerably.

He wanted to sink into the bedding and down onto the floor to be swallowed by the very ground when Edrehasivar asked again what it was he meant. When it became clear that Thara could not find the words to answer, his secretary was the one brave enough to take him aside and explain the sordid details. The shocked gasp and impassioned muttering from the hall did make him think he had finally gotten through to Edrehasivar.

Yet upon his return, His Serenity resumed his seat at Thara's bedside, and did very hesitantly take Thara's hand in his. His thumb brushed over the back of it soothingly. It was enough to make Thara look at him again.

Horror was writ on Edrehasivar's face, in the set of his ears and the crease of his brow and the way he chewed his lower lip. There were tears in his eyes, too, that had not fallen but glistened there.

“I would have come to thee when called'st out to me, if I could have,” the Emperor said, his voice wavering. “I will see justice done on Tethimar and Ubezhar for not only beating thee, but-- _violating_ thee so.”

Thara drew in a shuddering breath. His heart ached fit to burst; he did not _deserve_ an emperor this compassionate and humane. Only Archprelate Teru Tethimar was as generously and recklessly kind. Hot tears slid down his cheeks again.

“For treason,” Thara corrected, his voice like waterlogged gravel.

“Yes, that too,” Edrehasivar said, exasperatedly. “But also for what they've done to you. Didst deserve none of it, and I will not hear thee blame thyself for _any_ of this any longer. Art honorable and capable, and hast my deepest respect and appreciation. Is that clear, Mer Celehar?”

For a long moment, all Thara could do was stare. Edrehasivar was as stubborn as he was kind. Thara would not best him... nor did he wish to. He allowed himself to close his fingers around Edrehasivar's, holding his hand as well as being held.

“Yes, Serenity,” he whispered. “...I thank you.”

The smile that His Serenity gave him was both relieved and happy. It lit a tiny ember of warmth deep inside Thara. Though he could not forgive himself, and still feared he was more broken a tool than was allowable, it felt good to know his emperor did think him worthy of respect.

* * *

When a knock sounded on the door and the emperor's first nohecharei arrived to relieve the second of duty, Kiru finally decided her patient had had enough excitement for one evening. She ushered the emperor and his retinue out of Thara's room, insisting several times to a worried Edrehasivar that she would sleep as soon as she was finished seeing to Thara.

“He is a good man,” Thara said when they had gone, tongue loosened by the draught for painless sleep she had just given him. “And more forgiving than we deserve.”

Kiru smiled with a wry twist at the corner of her mouth. “You should be glad he is not here to hear you say that. Have you forgotten your promise to His Serenity already?”

Thara shook his head. “No, merely thinking that we are lucky. ...We do not know how kindly Ulis will look on us when we have the courage to beseech his forgiveness.”

She finished smoothing the sheets over him, then paused by the bedside. The look she gave him was searching. Finally, she nodded in understanding. “The gods do look favorably on those who are steadfast in their devotion and honorable of action. We believe you are both these things, Mer Celehar, whatever you may think of yourself.”

“You speak wisely,” Thara admitted. “And we thank you, Kiru Athmaza. We shall... hope Ulis agrees with you and not with us.”

With that, she bid him good night, and left him to slip into sleep while she left to take her own rest.

Thara closed his eyes, and prayed. Not for death, not for forgiveness, but simply for Ulis to continue to use him as he saw fit... as a conduit through which those who had no voices could be heard and understood.

As Edrehasivar had heard and understood and accepted him.


End file.
